Medical

WORDS & LINKS HERE: From a poetic selection is his A
BIG BOOK OF MY OWN Stanley Pacion recites his poem about addiction and love as a video response to AnAAlias powerful video, My Life with Anorexia.
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage contains words/text for all poems, plus other images and poems. “When a child I played, entertained myself with crystal sets, later I became a ham radio operator. The fact that I now have an audience of several thousands and growing, that this audience has become increasingly world-wide, and that it hears and sees me while I read my lyric and prose is nothing short of astounding. I love my YouTube!” For this poem ……….
Original BLOG LISTING 10 July 2008.
http://stanleypacion.blogspot.com/search?q=WERE+I+BORN+PERFECT
Or Use the on BLOG SEARCH (upper left corner) to Locate:
WERE I BORN PERFECT

Remember I told you how I handled Alex?
He was a bad case, eh,
What with his doing 8 bags o’ dust at time,
And then visiting local bars, so sick,
Upchucking right on the patrons’ jackets,
While they sat there, all innocent,
People on their stools were having a drink!

I didn’t talk to him for years,
Refused all contact, I was afraid,
People just did not realize how afraid.
He occupied my thoughts night and day.

I thought he might wind up in jail,
Or dead or victim hooked up,
Like some medical experiment,
Doctors without options, practicing
Last resort medicine, the wires and tubes,
The horrible hospital ordeal,
The nightmare confronting parent,
When the ultimate, the intervention takes
Place within emergency-room setting.

It’s not death, for death but a word.
It is the way of it. I feared.

I called it love, my having nothing,
Absolutely nothing to do with him,
Until he went for help since he seemed
Unable to help himself, and cease
The into which he had tumbled.

I did not know what else to do.

Once he called me and said,
‘Dad, I’ve got the monkey off my back!’
But I hanged up the receiver,
Didn’t let him explain,
I couldn’t take it, no more bullshit,
I knew he was still in the circus.

And Billy, a surrogate son,
You know the story, I … I treated him the same,
The same cold shoulder, not talking to him
Months on end, until he realized our friendship
Depended on his treating his two boys,
Like a proper father. I wanted him to put
His children first in his life, and I meant it.

Forget about my smile and easy charm,
It’s never smart to test my resolve.

But, darling, when it comes to dealing with you,
I find no form of human love prevails.
No mere earthly style or mode of affection works!

Oh, the poetry!
Look to the poetry I write for you.
My heart wells up, the warmest regard,
Right up to the breaking point,
In poem after poem I tried to portray
How deep, how utter the abandon,
I declared I would gladly give my life for yours.

I described my most intimate thoughts,
The veracity of your physical beauty,
I wrote, RED ROOF INN for you.

I spent a year and wrote, NOW VOYAGER for you.

When in Brooklyn I found you that early,
That rainy morning, I knew you were treasure.
For you I wrote SERENDIPITY!

And to attest to your strength of character,
To express my fondest feelings for you,
I wrote, and then I rewrote, DREAM CHILDREN,
Time and time again, the work was praise of you.

Oh, the tender thoughts! You on my mind
Beseeching you, and ever so softly, so softly
I sought to pull upon the strings of your heart.

And the letters, they are all love letters,
And we have a pile of them.

When I said it wrong,
Overstepped the line of common propriety,
And for those errors in judgment and phrase,
I beg you, heart, please forgive.

Yet the times I lacked intellectual might,
The good sense to say it right with care,
It was you — your well being foremost in my life.

My intent was pure, I wanted best for you,
And you know it! And though I wish you forever well,

Such a love you might not find again.

Yet I doubt all my love allows you any easier a sleep.

And one wonders what technique,
Just what kind of human love might lessen
The pain, the disorder troubling you,
And calm the upset which has delivered us
To this grisly end, the final stages of our romance.

Here I pray to God.

I fall to my knees and pray
– Such my will to believe –
Ask that Munificence be granted,
That the Almighty do, on earth,
All those things that I had failed to do for you.

God’s will be done.

Were it only so, had I been born, perfect.

And now, how I regret, when a child,
I wasted time playing with crystal sets,
And in the basement of my parents’ home
Spent hours profligately upon
Imaginary laboratory tables with chemistry,
Meaningless experiments with liquids and powders.

************Poem Continues See:
http://stanleypacion.blogspot.com/search?q=WERE+I+BORN+PERFECT
Original BLOG LISTING 10 July 2008.

Duration : 0:8:1

[youtube 9u7eQJYGRhI]